


everything

by doctormissy



Series: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge [24]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: My love, I’m sorry about your favourite socks. I accidentally ruined them when I did the laundry. I know it’s not the same, but I got you the exact same ones—with one tiny improvement. J.





	everything

**Author's Note:**

> very lame for my first got fic (why haven't i written anything in the fandom yet???). but i love jaime and brienne, i love modern aus, and i had to write something for this little challenge of mine. enjoy :)

‘Did you see my fuzzy socks?’ Brienne called from the bedroom. She has been fruitlessly rummaging through the chest of drawers for five minutes now.

Jaime laid aside the Times and drank his black coffee. ‘Which ones?’ he asked. She had many a pair of fuzzy socks, as far as he was concerned.

She abandoned the chest of drawers, pale bare feet peeping out of her tracksuit bottoms and hair still wet from the shower, and leant on the doorjamb between the bedroom and the living room. ‘The blue woollen ones you gave me for Christmas four years ago.’

‘That does sound like me,’ he admitted and turned to look at her, ‘but I have no idea, Brienne. Did you look under the bed?’

‘I don’t put things under the bed, Jaime,’ she said perhaps a bit too roughly, as if he ever did that. ‘Are you sure you don’t know?’

‘Yes, Brienne, I am sure.’ He could see the frown above her beautiful blue eyes from metres away. ‘Why are they so important to you, anyway? Put on another pair.’

‘Did you honestly forget?’ Jaime shrugged. Brienne’s look was mildly accusatory now. She slowly walked toward the beige sofa he was sitting on. ‘You gave me those the year I started working with you. It was more of a jest than a gift, really, but it was a peace offering. It was a beginning. Next Christmas we were friends, a year later we started dating, and last week we decorated a tree together in our flat. I wear the pair of socks every Christmas. It means everything to me, Jaime Lannister,’ she shouted at him. She often did that, spat out sweet, romantic words like she was trying to prove a point. ‘You mean everything to me.’

She hovered right above him and stared into his eyes. Jaime grabbed her green jumper and pulled her down for a kiss. For a second she was overcome by surprise, but she immediately relaxed and smiled into his lips.

‘Your beard is scratchy,’ she said, and pulled away. He hasn’t shaved for four days.

‘I thought you liked my beard.’

‘I do.’

Brienne stood straight. He finished his cup of morning coffee and stood up as well, to put the mug in the dishwasher. She sat on the sofa’s backrest and put a few annoying strands of wet hair behind her ears.

‘Why don’t you open your presents?’ he suggested. ‘I’m sure you will find the answer as to where your socks are later.’

‘But I am cold _now_ ,’ Brienne insisted.

Jaime shook his head. He rejoined her and took her reluctant hands in his, making her stand up again. ‘Come on,’ he said. He virtually dragged her to the Christmas tree—which took quite the effort, mind you. She was laughing by the time he sat her down on the carpet under the tree (right into prickly needles).

Jaime knelt in front of her, needles regardless. He handed her the first present and took one marked with his name. It was from his brother, Tyrion, judging by the handwriting. When Brienne didn’t rip the paper apart at once, he urged, ‘Go on. Your cold feet don’t have all day.’

She rolled her eyes at him.

The present contained a turquoise shawl. She wound it round her shoulders, and Jaime gave her a thumbs-up. It matched the colour of her eyes nicely. His present was an expensive bottle of whisky, 25 years old. He has always appreciated Tyrion’s superb taste in alcohol. 

The next present came into her hands willingly. She happened to grab one of the two Jaime had bought for her; the soft one. He laid the bottle aside and continued tearing his way through his boxes, just as she did with her soft packet.

Brienne froze when she unwrapped it. There was a pair of socks. _The_ pair of socks. ‘Jaime, you f—’ she began, but then she noticed a card. She turned it over. It read: _My love, I’m sorry about your favourite socks. I accidentally ruined them when I did the laundry. I know it’s not the same, but I got you the exact same ones—with one tiny improvement. J._

She threw the card on the ground and took the blue woollen socks in her hands. She inspected them from every angle. They looked exactly the same on the outside.

Jaime forgot about his presents and stared at his Beauty. ‘Look inside,’ he advised, pointing at them with something long and cylindrical wrapped in white snowmen on a red background.

Brienne shoved her hand in the right sock, and found nothing. In the left one, her fingers hit something cold. She pulled it out.

This was so easy, really. He was already on his knees, and she already held the golden ring. All he had to do was ask the question the answer to which he knew anyway.

‘Yes,’ she breathed without hesitation after the primal wave of shock receded, ‘yes, Jaime, I will marry you.’ He took the ring from her and slid it onto her ring finger with a lingering kiss. The socks dropped on Brienne’s crossed legs. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you for ruining those socks and not telling me about it.’


End file.
